


Tales from the Inventory

by CaptMickey



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Evil Dead - All Media Types, Homestar Runner, Monkey Island, Penny Arcade, Poker Night at the Inventory (Video Game), Sam & Max, Team Fortress 2, The Venture Bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptMickey/pseuds/CaptMickey
Summary: What happens in the Inventory, stays at the Inventory.





	1. Earworm

**Author's Note:**

> A series of one-shots and short stories for the poker players from the game I've been thinking about doing for a while now but never got around to. I should mention that I do plan on adding more characters as the story goes on and I'll add to the fandom/character tags, but for now it's just the ones you see.

The room was fairly quiet, save for the sounds of the light jazz playing overhead, drinks clinking in their glass as Moxxie sat behind the bar mixing a few libations in front of the portly host, the ever so slight creaking of the floorboard from the other guests walking around, and the cards and chips being placed on the table as the guests continued betting away their cash.

Brock took a drag from his cigarette as he watched the others carefully, trying to read their tells. Claptrap idly sat by taking a sip from his drink after having folded his hand, Ash checked his bet and looked rather smug about his cards (a bluff if Brock were to guess), and from across the bodyguard, Sam was muttering under his breath staring at his hand.

“Having a hard time making a decision there, Fido?” Ash questioned.

“Yeah, I don’t even need to use any my special equipment to read your obvious tells that you have a crappy hand.” Claptrap snarked. 

"What’s got you?” Brock stubbed out the end of his cigarette, blowing out the remaining smoke. “Short on betting funds?”

“No... it’s not that.” Sam shook his head, tapping his fingers across the table.

“Then what is it?” Ash continued asking.

“Well, it’s just that Max figured out on how to take down criminals without having to lay a hand on them and just sings.”

Brock and Ash raised a brow as Claptrap just leaned slightly to get a better look at Sam.

“That doesn’t sound too bad. Unusual, but not bad.” Ash shrugged.

“That’s not the worst part.” Sam sighed. 

The bodyguard lit another cigarette and eyed the freelance officer. “Then what is it? He can’t sing?”

“Is it dubstep?” Claptrap perked up.

“No to the dubstep question, and kinda on the singing one.”

“Then what does he do?” The black haired man pushed. 

There was a long silence before Sam folded his hand and kicked his feet up on the table. Brock checked and Ash thought for a moment before grumbling and folding as well, letting the bodyguard win the pot. 

“Max just starts singing two lines in a song and doesn’t move forward to the next verse. It gets stuck in your head to the point that it drives you mad. I STILL have the last song he sung three weeks ago in my head and it’s driving me bonkers.”

Before they could ask what the song was, Max jumped on Sam’s shoulders and eyed the table.

“Whoooooa, we’re half way there~ WHOOOA, LIVING ON A PRAYER!”

Sam covered his face as Max grin grew large and hopped off, still singing loudly.

“Whoooooa, we’re half way there~ WHOOOA, LIVING ON A PRAYER~!”

“He won’t go to the next verse.” Sam mumbled dejectedly. 

“That... doesn’t seem that bad.” Ash admitted as the new set of cards appeared in front of them. 

“Not now, anyways.” The freelance police took hold of his cards and continued playing. 

\--

Three weeks went by and the setting remained the same. Ash and Brock remained at the table with Brock becoming the victor this round. Puffing out the smoke from his lungs, he looked at the deadite hunter and couldn’t help but smirk. Ash just growled and in frustration pushed his cards down, Brock didn’t flinch but he tapped the cigarette on the ashtray. 

“What’s got your panties in a bunch, Williams?”

“Nnngh...” He tapped his prosthetic hand on the table, muttering under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Half way there..."

“You lost me here Will--”

Brock moved slightly back as Ash slammed his fists on the table, causing the cards, chips, and drinks to shake violently. 

“THREE WEEKS. THAT GODDAMN SONG HAS BEEN STUCK IN MY HEAD FOR THREE WEEKS!” Ash cried out. “IT’S STUCK IN A GODDAMN LOOP!!” 

From the booth, Sam just sipped from his drink while Max smiled and laughed, looking pleased as punch with himself as Ash laid his head on the table and kept mumbling the same two lines.


	2. Snore

Tycho grumbled up a storm as he folded another hand, loosing badly against Brock, Ash and Sam while already making plans to head to the bar to drown out his misery via an endless amount of drinking (or rather, have it be left on his tab as he was now indebted to the Inventory). He noted their expression of agitation, mainly on Ash's face.

"Rough game tonight, eh gentlemen?" Tycho attempted at a light conversation when he got no reply back.

"There's no way he breathes like that." Sam growled, having already folded a few rounds ago.

The webcomic writer raised a brow, was he referring to him? Or Brock?

Ash rubbed his face after folding, with Brock not even cracking a quip about how they were clearly outmatched or whatever bullshit he loved to mock Tycho with. "That's just not normal." Ash hissed.

Okay, now he was really confused. 

"Uh... am I missing something here?" Tycho chimed in, jumping a little when Ash slammed the table. "Sheesh, sorry. What's going on?"

"Just shut up and listen." Brock spoke as he lit a new cigarette.

"Okay, this better not be some like, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon crap you're pulling on me." The webcomic writer shrugged and paid attention, thinking he should close his eyes to heighten his hearing sense and already hearing Strong Bad being that smug smart-ass making a joke about how much of a nerd he was.

The music stopped for the night, guessing they were taking a five. The host- Winslow, was conversing with Max about dinner or... something like that, he wasn't entirely sure and didn't feel like prying into that conversation. The bar that Moxxie controlled was lacking the usual sounds of glass clinking, but that was because nobody was ordering any drinks... at least, not yet anyways. No one to go there out of pity just yet. 

And there it was.

That subtle, but clearly audible, sounds of someone snoring.

"What the hell?" Tycho mouthed. 

"It's been like that ever since we started playing." Sam explained. "And it's coming from over there."

The freelance dog turned his body around and pointed at the giant lumbering form that was the Heavy, whose back was turned towards them but the snore was as prominent as ever. The three poker players looked at the direction and were unable to look away. 

"He's gotta be sleeping, right? There's just no way in Hell that someone breathes like that." Ash wondered.

"I wouldn't be surprised with someone that big but jeez, that's just annoying." Brock puffed out smoke.

"Should... one of us wake him up?" Tycho raised a brow.

"No." The three answered unanimously. 

"Last thing I want to do is accidentally get him to use that Iron Curtain of his on us. Max told me the details of that thing and let's just say I don't want to be on the opposite end of that or else I'd be a swiss cheese dog." Sam moved his feet from the table as a new set of cards came to them.

"Mmmmm, swiss cheese dog." Max smiled.

"See, this is why I don't like guns." The bodyguard raised. "Too many trigger happy freaks." 

"This is why I stick with my shotgun." Ash agreed as he also raised. "Hits the target straight on in multiple ways without hitting others."

"Isn't that kinda bad in your line of work?" Tycho checked.

"Eh... can't complain."

The snoring got louder and Sam's shoulders tensed as he folded. "Can't focus with that..."

"And it was a good hand too." Max pointed out.

The round continued with various checks, folds, raises and all-ins, but the snoring didn't vanish once as the game began to hit the three hour mark. At one point, Max left the room as he found the noise to continue to be unbearable. Winslow sat in a chair next to their table, unable to stand the snoring sound and found it that it was quieter sitting with the current poker players, albeit not by much. The three of them played the game entirely in a silent rage as none of them knew what to do. 

"Fuck this." Tycho tossed his cards in a fold and placed a hand on his forehead, his leg bouncing in frustration. "The entire game I didn't hear it and now it's all I can fucking hear."

Sam fumed silently but looked at Tycho. "While I'm not a fan of such vulgarity under normal circumstances, this time around, I have to agree."

"I third that." Brock stubbed out his cigarette and looked at Winslow. "Can't you do something about it, see if he's sleeping or if he's actually breathing like that?"

"Explain how it's annoying." Ash insisted.

Winslow thought about it and walked over to the Heavy who had a book in hand and reading glasses on. He was hesitant to approach the giant man but nevertheless tapped the Russian's arm, grabbing his attention.

"Yes?" Heavy raised a brow, looking at Winslow. "What can I help you with?"

"Ah, Mr. Heavy I have to ask this as most of the customers here are also wondering... have you... eh... that is um..." Winslow felt himself backing away and shook his head, "Are you feeling alright? It sounds like you may have a stuffed nose."

"Stuffed nose? What?" Heavy tilted his head slightly. "I do not have stuffed nose."

"So that's just how you breathe?"

"Only when it's humid, yes."

"I see. Would you anyways like a tissue?"

Heavy lightly patted Winslow's head and bursted out a laugh. "Ha ha! No thank you, Mr. Winslow, that will not be necessary, I am feeling quite alright."

"Heh, good to hear." Winslow patted Heavy's arm and walked back towards the others who all appeared to have taken a pause to the game to see how the banter between the two would go down, and admittedly relieved to not hear any of the snoring for those few short minutes.

"And the verdict is?" Tycho asked.

"I eh... couldn't tell." Winslow admitted, hearing Brock growl. "Either he fell asleep while reading his book or he just breathes like that, claims it as something that happens when it's humid."

"It's pretty chilly in here though." Ash pointed out. "So either he's lying or he's actually asleep."

"Either way, it's a pain to my tuchas." Sam huffed.

The new set of cards appeared and for a brief moment, they heard silence. None of them said anything but looked at each other wondering if the snoring had finally come to an end, if they were finally free from that ear scrapping noise that was the Heavy's snore as the Russian mercenary sat up straight, looked around and went back to reading.

And it lasted a solid two minutes before the snoring continued and Ash stood up, slammed his cards on the table, and looked over towards the Heavy, shouting very loudly the caused everyone in the room to jump.

"GO TO BED."


	3. Carpool Radio

The most recent tournament had ended, as the silent poker player walked away with the night's winning. Strong Bad slammed his gloved fists into the arcade as Max watched with a gleeful grin while Sam sat at a table talking with Winslow. Brock, Ash, and the Heavy sat at the bar drinking as Tycho was picking a song from the jukebox. 

After carefully thinking it over, a low-tune jazz song began to omit and fill the quiet Inventory and the webcomic writer took a seat at the bar with the others. The Heavy gave an appreciative nod and continued drinking in silence.

"Y'know, I'm surprised that thing still works." Tycho commented, raising a finger to call for Moxxie.

"No kidding, I was convinced it was part of Brocko's set piece." Ash joked and took a sip from his drink. 

"That's because it is..." Brock growled and lit a cigarette. 

"You don't run out of those?" Ash raised a brow.

"Nope."

A whirring sound was heard as Claptrap rolled by and pulled himself up on the stool next to the deadite hunter, a feat that caught most of them off guard. "Y'know, you could've just asked ME for some tunes. I have over a thousand songs that are the top hits back on Pandora to pick from that you'd all enjoy!"

"If it's that dubstep crap, then you can drop it." The bodyguard remarked with a side-eyed glare. "I'm pretty sure it can make ears bleed."

"That's because it can!" Claptrap gleefully answered, resulting in a sigh from Brock.

"What kind of songs are you gentlemen into, anyways?" Tycho jumped in as Moxxie placed his drink down. He wondered if any of them would answer or just brush him off when Claptrap was the first to speak up.

"Dubstep or bust! It's the way of the future, man!" Claptrap continued to brag.

"Led Zeppelin is usually my kind of jam. Can go nicely into any given situation." Brock gave a small smile.

"I'm all for the King, baby." Ash smirked, "Elvis is a classic no matter the era."

Tycho nodded and looked at Heavy.

"I told you already, it is Huey Lewis." The Russian said. "You do not remember this conversation we had?" 

"Right... right. You did." The webcomic artist nodded. He turned his body to look over at Sam and Winslow. "What about you two?"

"I do like me a good sea shanty every now and again, although as of late I've been finding myself enjoying some smooth jazz." Winslow smiled.

"Oh, I like myself some blue grass. But none of those country music. Those grate my ears." Sam shrugged.

"Which is hilarious because I can't stand blue grass in the slightest." Max quickly answered with that comically large smile of his. Tycho looked between the two in confusion before Sam spoke up again.

"His taste in music changes often."

"Ah."

"Oh, I totally love the cool underground hits that your baby nerd ears never heard of." Strong Bad showboated. Tycho just raised an unamused brow. "Y-you know, like... the Grabage Parbage and the Cool Dude Patrol. Only cool folks like me heard of them."

"Uh-huh."

"Because you're lame."

"Okay." Tycho sipped his drink. "Anyways, I take it none of you listen to like, the top 40s or whatever?"

An almost unanimous no radiated throughout the Inventory, save for Sam and Max who both answered an "it depends". 

The night progressed and slowly the regulars began to call it in as they one by one began to leave till all that was left was the freelance police, Brock, and Ash. Sam stretched his arms high above his head and let out a yawn, turning to look at Max who looked to be struggling to stay awake. "Well little buddy, I think that's our cue to skedaddle to sleepy time junction." 

"All abooooard..." Max hit his head at the table after failing to keep it up, he remained unaware as the six foot tall dog casually picked him and began to leave, but not before stopping to look at the two men. 

"You two leaving also?"

"Yeah... I have work first thing in the morning." Ash sighed. 

"I'm sure Hank and Dean will start asking questions... they're clingy that way." Brock rubbed his forehead. 

The four of them left to the parking lot, Sam gave a wave to Brock and Ash as he and Max drove off in the DeSoto. "See you tomorrow night, Brock." Ash waved to the blond and walked over to his car, when he heard the engine die on him. Brock didn't leave and stared at the rundown Oldsmobile and stubbed out his last cigarette before crossing his arms. 

Ash tried again. And a second. And a third. But it was apparent that his car was dead. He slammed his head into the steering wheel and cursed. "Of course it had to go out and die on me." He jumped a bit when he heard Brock place a hand on the roof of the car.

"Need a lift?"

The black haired hunter didn't say anything for a while but let out a mumbled "yeah", getting out of his car and locking it. The two got into Brock's car and Ash stared at the Oldsmobile. "Hopefully it'll still be there..." He said.

"Knowing Winslow, it probably will be." Brock started the car, feeling the low rumble. "How you gonna get to work?"

"I'll take the bus. I did it before so it shouldn't be an issue... probably should call that I'll be late." Ash sighed, watching the streetlights go by. They stopped at a red light and he looked over at the radio when saw a cassette tape. He picked it up and held it to Brock. "Can I turn on some tunes?"

"Yeah, sure."

Ash smirked and clicked the radio to life as he placed the tape inside only to stare at it in disbelief as the song began. 

" _Whatcha gonna do with all that junk_  
 _All that junk inside that trunk_

 _I'm a get get get get you drunk_  
 _Get you love drunk off my hump~_ "

Ash turned his head towards Brock who had a realization look in his eyes as the song continued to play. The deadite hunter tried to figure if he was actually hearing what he was and pointed at the radio.

"Um... I... didn't know you liked this kind of song. No judgement or anything, but--"

"It's Dean's." Brock was quick to answer, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"Oh. Do... you wanna talk about it or--"

With a growl, Brock leaned and closed the radio off. 

"No. No you don't. That works too." Ash nodded and remained quiet the entire drive home. "Just to be clear, we're... never bringing this up to the guys at the Inventory right?"

Brock breathed through his nose.

They both swore to never speak of it again.


	4. Newbie

Tycho grumbled to the bar, having lost his money yet again to the game of poker. As he wandered away from the bar, he noticed the Heavy standing by the stair case railings watching the game with a furrowed brow, and figuring since the Russian had also lost within the same match, some company might be needed. He walked up to the stair where there was a clear view of the poker game going on, now set between Max and the new silent player that joined that day, the only sounds being heard was some inane banter the lagomorph was spewing leaving the player looking incredibly uncomfortable and confused and Heavy's breathing.

"So, what do you make of the newbie?" Tycho asked in a whispered tone.

"I do not know... they confuse me." Heavy admitted, his eyes locked on the game as he watched the two carelessly toss their chips to the center. 

"Confuse you?" The webcomic writer raised a brow, "What do you mean?"

"They don't have plan. They just toss their chips willy nilly while looking like a scared bird." He pointed at them, "See?"

As if on cue, the silent player just tossed their chips in and had a ridiculous grin on their face. It didn't read of confidence, but it didn't read of nerves either. It did, however, read entirely of "FIRST TIME PLAYER".

"Maybe it's just their poker face?" Tycho suggested, but then the player lost and slammed their forehead into the table with a groan. "Ooooor maybe that's just how they look."

"It's annoying." Heavy growled.

The two kept watching the game in silence, Max would win a round, the player would win a round. It was feeling like a never ending match. Tycho leaned his body forward on the railing, his head resting on his hand as he watched the match keep going. "Hey... how did you think they heard of the place? I'm pretty sure I've never seen them before and usually the Inventory is pretty particular with their guests." He side eyed Strong Bad who was blabbing his mouth to a very exhausted and very frustrated Brock Samson. "...Usually."

Heavy just shook his head with uncertainty. "I can not say, but I did overhear Mr. Winslow talking about bringing new people to liven things up. Perhaps this new player is that person?" He then looked at Tycho and gave the man a small nudge and a giggle. "But they're terrible player."

"They... beat us both at a showdown, Heavy." Tycho reminded the Russian with a frown

"Oh. Right." Heavy leaned on the railing as well. "It still is funny seeing the deer eye look."

The webcomic artist watched as the Russian attempted to impersonate the player and let out a snort at the failed attempt. The two kept watching the game, at one point ordering drinks to have due to the game that seemed to have never ended until Max spoke up with a delightful glee on his face.

"Same cards! You're just as crazy as I am to place a bet like that with cards like these!" The lagomorph giggled. The player just gave a nervous smile and looked towards Winslow who was shuffling the cards and shrugged. 

Tycho and Heavy looked at each other baffled and looked back at the match. 

"That's just sad..." The webcomic artist mumbled. The match kept going back and forth for another when an idea sparked in Tycho's head and a mischievous grin appeared on his face. "Say Heavy... humor me here."

Heavy raised a brow and side eyed Tycho.

"How about we make their match more interesting for us?"

"...What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about having a bet on the two of them, obviously."

"But we're both broke."

Silence befell them and the sounds of chips remained.

"True." Tycho nodded. "How about instead of cash, we bet with um..." He looked around the room and noticed the bar. "Drinks. Loser owes the winner drinks for let's say... a month?"

Heavy placed a finger on his chin and contemplated, a grin appearing on his face and stuck his hand out for Tycho to shake. "It is bet. Little rabbit will beat the nervous new player."

"Alright, it's a bet." Tycho grinned and took hold, a firm shake between the two of them as they watched the game. One drink, two drinks, eventually too many to count but after a while the Heavy slapped a heavy hand on Tycho and shook him.

"Look!" The Heavy exclaimed.

The silent player looked scared and frustrated whereas Max just kept grinning. It was fair to say that the lagomorph had probably the best poker face out of everyone in the Inventory. Rubbing their face, they shoved their remaining chips into the center and looked between Winslow and Max. Tycho and Heavy held their breaths as they watched the final cards be played out, but it was hard to see from where they were what exactly those cards were. More then that, Max and the player's expression didn't tell them anything as to whether or not who was winning.

Winslow then announced the play.

"Max has... TWO pairs! The player has... a pair of twos." Winslow looked at the lagomorph. "Max wins the hand and the tournament!"

The player's face dropped to a sadden look and slammed their head into the table while Max clapped his hands in joy. Winslow walked over to pat the player on the back and was about to give them his condolences when all three jolted at the sudden loud noise.

"NO!" Tycho hit his head on the railing and Heavy just gave it out a hearty laugh.

"I like my peach bellinis, Tycho." The Russian laughed and walked away.

"Great... more people I owe money to..." Tycho grumbled, he leaned up and saw the player walking by, giving a sheepish smile to the webcomic writer. "You bet on a pair of twos? Really?"

The player simply shrugged.


	5. The Bad People

Moxxi sauntered to the other side of the bar, leaning provocatively at Sam and smiled. "And what can I get for you, handsome?"

"Oh, nothing for me please. Just need a place to sit until Max is finished with his side job with Heavy." Sam waved off. "But thank you for the offer."

The bartender gave a nod and walked off. Sam leaned a bit on the counter and looked around, at the end of the table, Strong Bad sat with his cup of apple juice and on the other Brock was enjoying his whisky. The poker match was still going strong between the deadite hunter, the silent player, the robot from Pandora and the webcomic writer.

"SON OF A BITCH!" 

Well, just the first three, Sam thought. He heard the angry scrape of the chair next to him with some various profanities under Tycho's breath. Sam watched as the writer called over Moxxi. "Gin on the--"

"Sorry sugar, but I can't get you your drink till you pay up." Moxxi cut off smoothly, Tycho just blinked in bewilderment. 

"What?"

"I was told by some... people, to not serve till you pay." 

Sam just watched the complexion on the writer's face drop and him looking horrified. Moxxi, patted Tycho's hand and walked off, leaving him to place his head in his hands. "Un-fucking-believable..."

"Ha ha! The baby writer can't get his baby drink." Strong Bad mocked, "Unlike me drinking my super special macho manly drink."

"That's literally fucking apple juice, you uncultured moron." Tycho slammed his hands on the table and glared angrily at the not luchador. 

"Nuh uh. And besides, at least I can still pay for it." Strong Bad took a sip, savoring the growl that he heard from Tycho.

"You owe people?" Sam asked.

"Was pretty sure Max told you..." Tycho grumbled. 

Try as he might, Brock stubbed out his cigarette. "I shouldn't ask, but I'm curious. Who exactly do you owe?"

Everyone at the bar went quite, hearing Tycho's feet shaking at the bar. Eventually the webcomic artist sighed in defeat and looked among the three. "I um... I owe the Inventory a lot of money... like... A LOT of money. More specifically the Owner."

Sam winced. "Oh, that's not good. The owner here tends to be really adamant about getting their money back."

"Tell me about it, they're still on my ass about that ah... scuffle I had a few months back." Brock took a sip from his drink, "So tell us, how'd you find yourself indebted to the Owner of all people?"

"Well... it started like this..."

\--

He couldn't believe it... he lost. Tycho Brahe lost ten thousand dollars. He held his head in his hands and groaned, Gabe was NEVER going to let him live this down after all the shit talk Tycho did just hours prior about how he could not only win, but make double the money he paid with. Sitting at a booth by himself, he contemplated what lie he would tell the webcomic artist when he saw someone standing by him from the corner of his eye.

"Can I help you?" He mumbled, not turning his head.

"Hmm... it seems like the other way around." Winslow spoke. "Mind if I take a seat?"

Tycho gestured for them to take a seat and looked up at him. "What do you want?" Tycho asked.

"Well, you look pretty upset, what happened?" He asked.

"I lost literally of my money, I think that warrants a reason to be upset." Tycho sighed. "I just need one more round, I feel lucky enough to win back some of my money."

"Really?" Winslow raised a brow.

"Y-yeah..."

He eyed him again, causing him to feel uncomfortable but then he smiled at him. "Alright, tell you what. You sit here, and I will go see what I can do."

"What do you mean...?"

Winslow stood up and patted Tycho's shoulder, leaving to the flight of stairs. He shouldn't have... but Tycho admittedly watched the portly man as he climbed up to the second floor and knocked on the door, he watched as it opened revealing the words on the glass that read "OWNER" and Winslow disappear. Sitting back in his both, riddled with nerves, Winslow eventually came back with a grin on his face.

"Alright, I opened for you a tab." Winslow smiled as he took a seat.

"Really?" Tycho's eyes widen with joy. "I... I don't know what to say, ah... thank--" 

Winslow put a hand out to stop Tycho.

"On... one condition."

"Crap." Tycho sighed. "What's the condition?"

"The Owner agreed to let you back into the tournament. They bought your entry back in. In exchange... the moment you win, just pay them back what you owed them which is a hundred dollars." 

"Just a hundred?"

"Yes, should be easy enough for you, right?" Winslow stuck his hand out. "Do we have an accord?"

Tycho looked at the extended hand and grinned, taking hold and giving a firm shake.

\--

"And you agreed to that?" Sam stared gobsmacked. "You kept losing every other tournament!"

Tycho rubbed his face and mumbled, "Don't remind me..."

"So then what happened?" Brock asked, having lit a new cigarette while the story was being told.

"I... met the Inventory's enforcer..." 

\--

One hundred dollars being easy his ass. He was a good million dollars in debt and tried to do the math to see how much he would need to win to get back the money to the Owner when he heard a female voice clear her throat next to him.

"Moxxi... please. Not now."

"I'm not Moxxi." A stern female voice spoke.

Tycho looked up and was admittedly caught off guard by the female's appearance. She was well dressed and looked confident, he felt her eyes pierce through him and reading everything about him. For some reason, he felt the need to sit up straight at her sight... something about her read as someone to clearly not fuck with. He gestured with his hand for her to take a seat, she didn't need to be told twice. 

"I ah... h-have we met?" Tycho asked.

She shook her head. He rubbed the back of his neck and extended his hand out.

"Um... I'm--"

"Tycho Brahe." She answered curtly. "I know."

"That's not scary at all." Tycho mumbled and leaned back, "Ah... how... how do you know who I am?"

"It's sort of my job to keep tabs on the guests of the Inventory... more specifically regarding the finances." She spoke with confidence. The female leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles and kept looking at Tycho. "And I know that you owe quite a bit of money."

He gulped. "Is... this the part where you get your goons or whatever to drag me to an alleyway and beat me up?"

"Oh, no. It's not in the Owner's nature. No. This is your final warning that if you don't find a way to pay back the Inventory I will personally find a way to make your life an absolute living Hell." She just smiled coldly. 

"H-how..."

"To tell would spoil and ruin the threat."

Tycho gulped.

"So, I'm giving you one of two options." The woman leaned forward. "Either start winning these tournaments, or work here and be forced to pay back every single cent. And that's quite a lot of cents." She stuck her hand out, "Do we have an accord?"

He eyed her and her hand, cautiously sticking his hand when she gripped tightly causing him to wince and grip the table, but it did nothing as she pulled him towards her allowing her to lean into his ear.

"Jeez, you have a grip like a fucking bear trap!" He whimpered. 

"And if you try and skimp out on town, I will personally track your ass down and I will follow through with the initial threat until you pay back the money." She threatened. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

She released his grip and smiled. "Then I wish you a good evening. Have fun, Tycho." 

He watched her stand up and leave, gripping his hand that felt like a bruise was forming.

\--

"You can't just like, use your web comic to pay back the Inventory?" Brock asked.

Tycho shook his head. "I really don't want Gabe to know about this. It's embarrassing enough that I keep losing, especially so much cash."

"That because Tie-Choo here doesn't have any money, unlike me who has like... a gajillion dollars." Strong Bad bragged.

"Strong Bad, I swear to God, I will beat you behind this alleyway if you keep it up." Tycho growled. 

"Well, anyways... you should be halfway through with the debt, right?" Sam asked, only to frown when he saw the webcomic writer glumly shake his head. "So... you owe the Inventory more?"

"...Unfortunately."

"How much?" Brock asked.

"Triple the initial amount."

All three reclined back and winced. 

"I'm not even sure how you did that, not even Max could pull off a stint like that and he was banned from playing poker here." Sam scratched his head. "So what are you gonna do?"

A female walked over to the bar, taking a seat right next to Tycho and placing a hand on his shoulder. "So... rough night?" She asked. The three didn't need to be told who the unknown female was based on the way Tycho immediately tensed up. 

"Y-yeah... yep." Tycho nodded. "I ah... yeah."

"Oh Tycho..." She gripped the back of his neck and a small yelp came out. "Option one is off the table. Mr. Winslow?"

"Yes, ma'am?" Winslow answered as he stood next to her.

"Meet your new assistant. He's going to start paying back every single cent that he owes starting today." She patted the writer's back and moved off the stool. "If he does anything to break the deal, just let me know."

"Yes, ma'am!" Winslow saluted and watched her leave. Tycho soon noticed that everyone aside from just those at the bar were paying attention to what was happening and looked directly at him. To say he was embarrassed was an understatement.

"Ha ha! Looks like somebody just go whip-- OOF!!"

Strong Bad never finished his sentenced as Tycho kicked the stool Strong Bad was sitting on causing him to land hard on the floor.


	6. Decorations

"And then the customer had the audacity to call me a liar! I know the store like the back of my hand, Brocko, and I know for a fact that I in fact did NOT have that extra frying pan." Ash huffed as he and Brock entered the Inventory. 

"Sounds like it was a rough day." Brock chuckled. 

"I hate the holidays sometimes and what the Hell?"

The two stopped as they looked around. The usual dark and admittedly dreary at times Inventory suddenly looked like winter wonder land with blue lights strung across the ceiling and stair case railings, snowflakes dangling down elegantly and glistening against the dim lights, white fluff along the floor to give the illusion of snow, garlands attached to the various tables and booth to give it that holiday look and holding on the ladder was the portly host who was watching Tycho finish putting the last of the snowflakes. 

"Hey, Winnie ah... what's going on here?" Ash asked, looking confused. "Is it a new theme or something?"

"It looks like Frosty the Snowman threw up all over the place." Brock pointed out.

"Good evening to you too, gentlemen. It's not really a theme that was unlocked or any vomiting that transpired, no... the Owner felt it would be festive to decorate the place for the holidays." Winslow smiled. 

"How long did it take you to decorate the place?" The brunet asked, looking at the sight. 

"Not that long, just a day or two. Would have taken longer but thankfully I have my assistant to help."

"Assistant?" The two men asked, Winslow pointed up towards Tycho and smirked. 

"Oh right... that debt thing." Brock recalled. He grabbed his pack and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and took a drag before looking back up. "Hey Tycho, I think that snowflake to to your right look a bit crooked."

"Bite me!" Tycho yelled from atop the ladder.

"Heh."

"So the Owner felt it would be festive, great." Ash said. "But what got them to suddenly decorate?"

"Well, they drove by this festival in the park, and when they saw the bright lights and festive decorations, it inspired them to decorate the Inventory." Winslow explained. "Bring some festive cheer."

"They didn't decorate for Halloween or Thanksgiving though." Brock pointed out.

"They weren't in town for that."

"Ah." The two nodded. 

"I finished!" Tycho declared and started to climb down the ladder. 

Brock took a drag and looked at Winslow. "Humor me here, pirate man. Who's changing outfits to fit the theme? That's always the case with these things."

"Is it the Owner?" Ash sounded a little excited. 

"No no no, the Owner isn't going to part take in that." Winslow shook his head.

"Buuuut it was their idea." Brock pointed out. "If not them, then will it be you?"

Winslow just grinned as Tycho touched the floor. "Well, it will be one of you folks, of course."

Tycho brushed his hands from all the glitter and dust. "Who's going to be the sucker dressed as Santa Claus? Will it be you?"

"Ha! No, but I wouldn't mind throwing my hat in the ring to dress up as the jolly old man." Winslow laughed. "However, we do have someone planned to dress up as Santa so there's no need to worry about that."

"Who said we were worried?" Brock puffed out the smoke. 

"So who's dressed up as the fat man?" Ash crossed his arms. "It sure as Hell isn't any of us, right?"

"Strong Bad and Claptrap are out of the question for very obvious reasons. You'd need someone big, right? Could be Heavy." Tycho suggested.

"I guess it would be a heavy responsibility, but that doesn't answer who it's going to be." Ash pointed out.

"He meant the Russian, dumbass." Brock sighed.

"...I knew that."

Tycho and Brock rolled their eyes.

"Eh... well, it could have been him. But he declined the offer." Winslow pointed out. "We eh... we found someone else."

"Who?" Brock asked.

The door kicked wide open and Max launched himself onto the bar dressed with the familiar red coat and giant bag over his shoulder. On his face, Max sported a giant white fluffy beard that didn't cover his shark-like grin in the slightest. "HO HO HO DIRT BAGS!!"

"Max?!" Tycho, Brock, and Ash gasped. They all looked to Winslow for an explanation but the portly host just shrugged. 

"You crack me up, little buddy." Sam walked in, wearing a suit with snowman patterns all over it. 

"You didn't pick SAM of all people to be Santa?" Ash pointed at the six foot tall dog while glaring at Winslow.

"Max and I flipped a coin and he won." Sam explained as he watched Max run around the Inventory laughing maniacally. "Plus red makes me look fat."

"Oh my God..." Brock rubbed the bridge of his nose, hearing the lagomorph threatening everyone in the Inventory to sleep with one eye open, Sam smiling the whole time, showing no signs of stopping the lago, and Winslow shouting for Max to get off the ladder.


	7. The Guest

With the Inventory closed for the night, the regulars decided to migrate from their usual spot to a bar down the road and sat around at a table after a serious tournament. Brock took his usual drag of his cigarette while Sam and Max were telling their story about the time they rescued Big Foot from the country singer to those who were interested in listening. Ash and Heavy were exchanging tips of cleaning their shotguns as Tycho drank his much earned gin after successfully winning back some money from the silent player who had left for the evening and Claptrap and Strong Bad were in the midst of babbling like children about music.

It didn't take long before Ash looked unease, it took even less time for Sam to notice.

"Something bugging you, Ash?" Sam asked.

The deadite hunter just shook his head. "No, well... kinda? Did anybody else notice that we were short on particular regular?"

"You mean the player?" Brock raised a brow. "Junior left right after they lost their money."

"No, not them. I saw them leave." Ash answered. 

"Maybe Glados?" Claptrap chimed in, "Haven't seen my beautiful gal in months!"

"No! Not her either!"

"Maybe it's your self esteem!" Max smiled.

"You crack me up, little buddy."

"I'm serious!" Ash slammed his prosthetic hand hard on the table, earning himself a few of the other guests to look over. 

"You're talking about Winslow, right?" Tycho finally spoke up. "Because I didn't have anyone making me do demeaning orders the whole day today and I honestly thought it was just me that noticed that."

Everyone at the table fell silent at the sudden realization, Tycho just stared at them all bewildered.

"You're telling me, NONE of you guys noticed that?" A chorus of no erupted from the table, resulting in a groan from the webcomic writer. "And you're all suppose to be observant."

"Where is Reggie anyways?" Sam asked, leaning forward on the table to look at Tycho. 

"I was kinda hoping you would know... you talk with him more then I do." 

"I guess..." Sam scratched his temple.

Heavy looked around the room, feeling admittedly curious about where the missing host was the whole night when he tapped on the table to grab all of their attention and pointed at the bar, "I found Mr. Winslow. He is there."

They all looked at where the Russian was pointing and saw Winslow ordering his drink. Ash raised a hand to grab his attention but quickly put it down when a tall lanky male figure walked to Winslow and patted his hand on the host's back. 

"Ah... does anyone recognize the man next to Winslow?" Ash asked, a chorus of no came out. 

"Could be someone he knows." Brock shrugged. He turned around and waved a hand over, quickly grabbing Winslow's attention who waved back and tapped at the blond to follow. The unknown figure looked pretty young but the beard admittedly made the blond look older, whether or not it was intentional was unknown. 

"Gentlemen! What a surprise to see you!" Winslow greeted, placing his drink on the table. "Here I thought you all went home for the night."

"Same can kinda be said about you." Tycho pointed out. 

"Where were you man? You're like the jolly fat friend that's in every friend group!" Claptrap finally joined in, completely disregarding the story Max was in the middle of. 

"What about Heavy?" Strong Bad asked. "He's..." He looked up and immediately looked down. "...Never mind."

"I suppose I do warrant an explanation." Winslow scratched his cheek. "I went over to the airport to pick up my friend here. He just came back from a business trip and it's been ages since I saw him, figured it was only right to pick him up myself instead of him having to take a taxi."

"Nice." Brock nodded approvingly. 

"Hi, I'm Guybrush Threepwood." He waved, hearing a chorus of hi and hellos. 

"Guybrush? What kind of lame-o name is that?" Strong Bad scoffed. 

"Well, what's your name?" Guybrush asked.

"You never heard of moi? You must be a lame nerd with no lappy." 

"Dipshit here is Strong Bad." Tycho cut-off, which resulted in a small snicker from Guybrush. Tycho then turned his body and began pointing at each person. "I'm Tycho. That's Brock, Ash, Sam, Max, Claptrap, and the big guy over there is Heavy."

"Heavy?" Guybrush raised a brow, looking up at the giant man.

"It is short for Heavy Weapons Guy." Heave clarified. 

"Ah."

"Nice to see ya, Squinky!" Max greeted as Guybrush and Winslow took a seat after the others made room for the two to join. Brock tapped his cigarette and looked over at Guybrush. 

"You're friends with Winslow? Does that make you a pirate too?" The bodyguard asked, took a drag and continued, "How come we never saw you around the Inventory?"

Guybrush took a sip. "Ah... heh, yeah, I guess I still am one. Haven't really been out at sea in a while but yeah... yeah that's my occupation or rather it was. And I haven't really been there because I'm not all that into playing poker."

"Was a pirate? What do you do now?" Brock kept asking.

"Eh... nothing really. Kinda got a few restrictions on me these last few years and I've been trying to talk a deal with this big corporation but um... it's... it's been rough." Guybrush admitted and took a sip from his drink. "It was why I travelled, had to meet them... but that's a conversation for another time."

"Business talk now away, Have you ever played poker?" Ash chimed in. "I'm just curious."

Guybrush nodded. "I have, a handful of times actually."

"You should totally join us next time then, man! What's your poker style? Sneaky style? Hidden aces? Oh! Word manipulation!" Claptrap began listing off, Ash and Brock groaned while Winslow just shook his head. Guybrush however, was chuckling.

"More like 'hope I have a good hand and Lady Luck likes me' kind of play style." Guybrush answered. "I only had to cheat once and it was for a diamond." 

"So Max style then." Tycho took a sip.

"It's effective!" The lagomorph grinned.

"Whoa whoa whoa wait, a diamond?" Ash nearly did a spit take, "You're going to have to explain that one a bit more, blondie."

"Well, I um... see what happened was I turned my wife into a gold statue when I proposed to her? Using a cursed diamond ring from my arch-nemesis hold." Guybrush began to tell.

"As one normally proposes." Ash nodded.

"So I was told that the only way to break the curse was to find a diamond ring of equal or greater value, turns out that a bunch of bandits had it and the only way for me to get it back was to play poker with them." The blond pirate continued, "Of course, I had to out smart them, and I did... by using tarot cards. Bunch of idiots really, but I was able to get the diamond AND win the game too. A win-win so to speak."

"Damn..." Brock stubbed out his cigarette. 

"You should swing by the Inventory if you're in town." Sam smiled. "Play a round with us."

"Ah... heh... I'm not sure." Guybrush rubbed the back of his neck.

"You seem like a bad enough dude to hang with us." Claptrap sounded eager. "Hey, Reggie, you should invite him to come over tomorrow!" 

"Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt." Winslow chuckled.

"I um... I don't really play poker anymore." Guybrush took a sip from his drink

"Why'd you stop playing then?" Ash asked. "Not feeling lucky or skilled enough without cheating?"

"No. Sans the one time, I'm actually not THAT bad... at least, I'd like to think I'm not that bad. I promised my wife that--"

"You have a wife?" Heavy raised a brow. "But you look like a baby... how does baby man have a wife?"

Guybrush frowned. "I'm... I'm not that young. I've been married to her for well over twenty years."

"So since you were a baby?" Strong Bad joked, resulting in just a glare from both pirates and Tycho.

"He gets worst the more you stay with him..." Tycho whispered to Guybrush's ear. He moved back and took a sip from his drink, "So what's the lucky woman's name?"

"Elaine." Guybrush smiled, looking like he was beaming as he said her name. 

"Where is she?" Sam asked.

"At home, she was tired and I didn't want to drag her if she wasn't feeling up to it. Wouldn't be fair to her, y'know?" Guybrush tapped his drink. "Besides, I could use a bit of an outing. Been a while since I did it with Winslow here of all people." He smiled and patted Winslow's back who smiled warmly. 

"I still have a hard time believing you have a wife, you should bring her with you to the Inventory." Heavy said with his arms crossed.

"Ah... maybe, I'll ask her if she wants to join." Guybrush chuckled nervously. He felt a buzz and dug into his pocket, pulling out a small phone. "Speaking of which... I gotta take this."

They all watched Guybrush leave the table as he answered the phone. Brock took a drink from his whisky and looked back at Winslow, "So real talk, is he actually a pirate or just some hippie living his hitchhiking life with that kind of hair?"

"He's indeed a Mighty Pirate™." Winslow assured. "Just eh... on hiatus. He's been landlocked by this big corporation after a deal going south and he's been trying to get out of it for a while. Been proving more difficult then initially thought."

"Oof... that sounds rough." Brock frowned.

"So are you going to actually invite him over or was that just being polite?" Ash asked.

"I'm considering it, never hurts to ask. Even if he just sits around, I'm sure he'll find something to do. He always does."

"Sounds like a story to me." Sam answered. "Care to share, Reggie?"

"Well, there was this one time where I left him in an office for roughly... an hour? He had some small business matters to take care of with the missus but was falling asleep during the conference so we figured it would be best if he waiting in the lobby. By the time we came back, he somehow managed to grab every pencil and pen and launched it into the ceiling. Made it into a smiley face I believe." Winslow recalled, he looked at the others who looked confused. "What?"

"How did he grab all those pens and do that and when can he start teaching me?!" Max asked, sounding excited and slightly jealous.

Guybrush walked back and took a seat at the table, taking a drink from his mug.

"Everything alright there, Guy?" Brock asked.

"Yeah, that was Elaine. Just asking if everything was alright." Guybrush answered. "I actually need to head back, but it was nice meeting you guys. I'll hopefully see you later, Winslow?"

"Aye."

Guybrush smiled and patted Winslow's back before waving to everyone, leaving the crowded bar. Strong Bad looked at the group who fell silent and shook his head.

"But what kind of lame name is Guybrush Threepwood anyways?!"

"Goddammit..." Tycho covered his face in his hands.


	8. Grabby Hands

Ash let out a boisterous laugh as he scooped up the massive pile of chips, Claptrap slammed his face into the table with his cursing bleeped out while Brock glared bitterly at the deadite hunter and Sam pouted at the lost of all his chips.

“Sam has been eliminated from play.” Winslow announced.

“Next time I bet, I won’t follow Max’s sign language.” The six foot dog grumbled as he left the table. He looked to his side where Max stood ever so loyally and pouting as well.

“I told you that jumping on foot while twirling and flapping the bird means fold, Sam!” Max huffed and crossed his arms.

“You complicated scamp.” Sam chuckled.

The two walked away from the table as the next round began and went to claim a booth for themselves. Sam eyed the game, watching the others play in rhythm and having those quick witted banters to and fro. “It’s funny how once you leave the game it seems so easily simple.” Sam commented.

“Like a long and convoluted Japanese RPG.” Max added with his sharp grin. “Just when you think you got the rules, BAM! A new set of zippers and spiky hair pretty boys come in and mess up your fun.”

“That’s… not what I had in mind, little buddy.” Sam scratched his forehead, seeing Max having already forgotten the conversation at hand when his stomach grumbled. “Oof, didn’t realize I was so hungry. Do you have any snacks on you?”

“Do you want my snacks?”

“On second thought, probably not. Who knows where it’s been.”

“Well that’s fine. Cause I ate it all while you were playing.” The Lagomorph beamed. “I’m gonna go grab some more snacks. You have any change?”

Sam just stared in silence before it clicked for the second half of the Freelance Police.

“Oh yeah. You crash and burned.” Max chuckled. “Be right back!”

Hopping out of the booth, Max made his way along the Inventory. He walked by the table where the Heavy snored reading his book, lowering his ears slightly due to the grating nature of the sound but still giving a small wave to the Russian mercenary who spotted the small lago and returned the gesture. It was nice to be on good terms, Max figured.

He sauntered by Strong Bad who looked to be struggling with Buster Blaster and a passed out Tycho by the bar.

That was a story for another day, Max decided.

“Hey Moxxi, where’s the vending machine at?” Max asked, spotting the oddly dressed bartender mindlessly reading through what appeared to be a magazine. “I want to get my fritos on.”

“Up the stairs by the bookshelf, sugar.” Moxxi cooed, giving a small wink. “But are you sure you don’t want some of my cooking? It's extra spicy.”

“Eh… not today.” The lagomorph shrugged before venturing towards his destination. He wasn’t kidding when he made mention of the horrible bag of chips and by jove, he was getting those chips. Walking to the more desolate section of the Inventory, hearing only the muted sounds of cheers, yelling, and off-key singing behind the closed off doors, the Godly vending machine awaited him in all of it's florescent light glory. 

Grinning, Max reached into his pocket (or a loose definition of it) searching and managing to pull out change, surprising even himself that he had any form of currency on him. 

"Now let's see why my gluttonous tummy would like..." He mumbled, looking at his options. Lays chips that looked to have been expired, Rice Krispie treats that looked questionable, Ruffles, and... "There you are!" Max smiled at the familiar Fritos chips. Eagerly, he dropped his change into the slot and punched in the three digits for the chips. Rubbing his hand greedily, he watched the machine slowly work. "Come to Max, you scandalous bag of chips." 

The machine whirred and hummed and just as the bag was ready to fall.

Thunk.

"Huh." Max blinked in silence, seeing the bag get itself caught between it's once captive shelf and the glass. He walked up and banged at the glass, but the chips didn't budge. The lago scratched his temple and punched the glass once again, but no dice. "Oh c'mon..."

He pulled out his gun and attempted to shoot the glass. It was frowned upon and he got his ear chewed out by Winslow for doing it once (well, five times really, but who was counting), but lecture be damned, he wanted his chips! Firing twice, the bullets deflected off the glass, forcing the lago to duck as it flew by him and into the crates behind him. 

"Curses, foiled by bullet-proof glass!" He snapped his fingers, frowning. "Guess Winnie wasn't kidding when he said the Owner would do some drastic..." 

Digging into his "pocket" he looked for more change but frowned when he fell short. 

"No worries, I can think of something..." Max muttered, seeing the bag taunting him in it's prison. He could have gone downstairs and ask if anyone had change, but he didn't want to leave the chips for anyone else to grab. He didn't have any means to get in touch with anyone. Out of good measure, he tried banging on the glass a third time, but more violently. 

"Give me my chips, you harlot!!" Max yelled, slipping to the floor groaning. 

The lago saw the slip that his reward would have otherwise fallen through and a thought came. Why not just grab it?

He slipped his hand in and pushed himself further in, trying to grab the bag of chips. It was taunting him how his finger could brush against it but couldn't grab it. He scowled and furrowed his brows. "Curse my fuzzy butterfingers!! Hnnnnnngh!!" Max pushed himself closer to the point his entire arm was inside the vending machine and his cheek was up against the glass. "Come... here... you scandalous-- huh." 

Turning his head, his shark-like grin returned when he saw in his hands was the chips.

"Yay! Time to-- Hm. Hmmmmmmmmmph... oh crud." Max mumbled, his ears falling behind his head, realizing his hand was stuck in the vending machine. He tugged but all it did was hurt him. "You have to be joking..." He slid to the floor with his arm still stuck and grumbled.

\--

He didn't know how long he was there for or if anyone noticed, but his ears perked at the sound of footsteps. Max looked at the source of the sound when he heard whistling. "Hello?" Max called out.

The whistling stopped and from around the corner, Ash peeked his head.

"Oh, hey there Bugs." Ash greeted.

"Don't call me that." Max squinted his eyes as Ash approached closer.

The deadite hunter saw the ensnared lago and scratched his cheek. "What the hell happened here?"

"I was trying to reach for Excalibur but it appears I'm not the chosen one." Max remarked dryly. "However, the machine has happened to take a liking to my otherwise questionable but adorable arm. The wedding is in July."

"No spare change?"

"Not enough."

"Ah."

"You wouldn't happen to have a key on you, would you?" Max asked.

"No, but I have a chainsaw. Messy as shit, but it does the job." Ash shrugged, bending down to show the iron hand. "But you get a neat hand if you go to the right blacksmith."

"Hmm... tempting."

"Williams, where are you? Winslow is asking for--" Brock stopped in his place and saw the two. All he could do was raise a brow. "The Hell happened?"

"Rabbit season happened, Brocko."

"I will kick you." The lago threatened.

Brock walked up and couldn't help but snicker. "That's pretty hilarious."

"I will kick you too!"

"Any suggestions?" Ash asked. 

"Did you try letting go of it?" Brock asked.

"Over my dead fuzzy body will I let go of the Fritos." Max growled.

"Okay. We can try greasing up his arm, slip right out with enough tugs." Brock pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Pulling out a stick and a light, he inhaled and puffed out the smoke. "Just need some grease. Moxxi might have some."

"How do you know that?" Ash raised a brow. Max looked equally curious. Brock just smoked quietly.

"I'll ask her." He muttered and walked off, leaving the two alone.

After a long silence with the sound of someone yelling behind a door, Max spoke up.

"So who won the tournament?"

"Claptrap."

"Neat!"

"Sure. Neat." Ash grumbled. 

As more time passed, the smell of Brock's cigarette came back to the hallway followed by Sam as well as Winslow. 

"Hi, Sam!" Max greeted enthusiastically.

"What in the Bluebeard tangled at a hair salon on Easter Sunday happened to you, Max?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"Well, I tried reaching for these delicious chips as I've made mentioned before and ended up being smitten by this accursed corporate vending machine." Max retold.

"You crack me up, little buddy."

The six foot tall freelance police officer dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a jar of crisco grease and began slathering Max's arm with it. 

"Mmmm... I will taste delicious."

"Don't eat your arm, you rascal." Sam mumbled. 

Winslow crossed his arms while Brock and Ash stood beside him, watching the procedure, "Max, what have we been telling you about that vending machine?"

"Take it out to dinner first?"

Ash snorted and Winslow sighed. 

"No... not that. To-- oh you know what, never mind." The portly man rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Sam stood up and patted his hands on his pants, "Alright, that should do it. Mind giving me a hand pulling Max out?" He asked, looking at the three gentlemen in the hallway. The three nodding, they all gathered around and grabbed hold of the lago.

"Careful now, I'm extra ticklish." Max teased. Already feeling the annoyed, confused, and unamused glare from Brock, Ash, Sam and Winslow respectively. 

"Okay, on three." Sam ordered. "One... two... THREE!"

With a hard tug, the five of them crumbled hard against the wall as the vending machine shook from the sudden yank. Groaning and rubbing the back of their heads or backs, Max looked at his hand and saw he was still holding the chips.

"Pop goes the lago!" Max laughed. 

"I hope it was worth it, little buddy." Sam muttered, readjusting his hat.

"Let's find out." He opened the bag, grabbing a fried treat and taking a bite. After a moment of hearing him chew, he handed the bag to Sam who also grabbed a treat, eating some but then frowning.

"What's wrong with it?" Brock asked.

Sam pouted. "It's a little stale."

"Want me to grab another?" Max asked, wiggling his greased fingers eagerly. 

"No!" Ash, Winslow, and Brock shouted. 

Sam just laughed and ruffled the top of Max's head.

"You crack me up, little buddy."


	9. The Room(s)

The tournament ended for the night, but the guests were all sitting around the area minding their own business. With Sam and Max sitting in their booth yammering to a curious Tycho, Brock and Ash drinking away at the bar to an ever flirtatious Moxxi, and Heavy and Strong Bad casually conversing over the many uses that boxing gloves possess. 

Winslow sat quietly at a table, scrolling by on the phone for any updates and frowned when he saw no news of what he was searching for. Another fruitless endeavor. Switching out from reading news feed to finally answered the various texts from Guybrush, Winslow remained unaware of a particular robot wheeling on over and hopping in the chair adjacent to the portly man.

"Winnie!"

"GAH!" Winslow jumped and nearly dropped his phone, quickly grabbing it before it met it's demise on the floor and sighed, looking at the Pandorian robot. "Yes, Claptrap?" 

"I have a question about this place, and you're the man who knows what's what!" Claptrap said gleefully. 

"Er... yes, I suppose I do. What would you like to know?" He pocketed the phone before anymore mishaps could happen. 

"I only know of two rooms, the entry way and this place." The robot began to explain. "I can only guess that in that room over there is the Owner's because it says blatantly 'Owner' on the door. As well as locked, like, ALL the freakin' time!"

Winslow looked over his shoulder at the aforementioned door. "Yes, that's correct."

"But what about those other rooms?"

"Hm?"

"The ones behind the books." Claptrap pointed at the specific bookshelves that opened up to regulars. "I roll by there all the time and I noticed all these doors. Usually, those are locked too. What are they? Are the torture dungeons? Oh! Maybe it's one of those fifty shades of gray kind of thing! Oh! Oh!! Does Tommy Wiseau live in there?! Oh my God, I would lose my CIRCUITS if he does! Does he? Please tell me, the suspense is killing me here."

The host merely stared at the robot and laughed. "I thought you had x-ray vision, Claptrap."

"Yeeeeeeeah, well... it's... busted. Right now. Needs maintenance repair."

"Like that 'bad call-o-tron' of yours?" Winslow smirked.

"...Yes. Just like that."

He shook his head, "Well you see, not everyone wants to play poker. In fact, the Inventory, while it does pride itself in all things poker-related, is first and foremost a place where others are free to play games that were at least at the time out-lawed. But in today's day and age, with that law lifted, various of people come by to play all sorts of games." Winslow pointed at the bookshelf. "Naturally, those rooms are where those other games are."

Claptrap gave an impressed whistle, or at least an audio file of it. "What sort of games are there?"

"We have everything; from board games such as Clue or Monopoly to rooms to play video games in. We even have a karaoke room there too."

"Karaoke?! And you never thought of selling it out like a bad prostitute?!" Claptrap slammed his robotic hands on the table, causing the patrons of the Inventory to all turn around and look. 

Winslow looked around and placed a finger over his lips. "Claptrap, please, lower your voice!" 

"You have a karaoke room?" Sam raised a brow. 

He sighed, "We do indeed. We also have empty rooms if you would choose to bring your own games."

"So like, Dungeons and Dragons?" Tycho chimed in, sounding slightly gleefully. 

"Nerd!" Strong Bad coughed. 

"Yes, even things like Dungeons and Dragons, Mr. Brahe." Winslow answered. He turned his attention back to Claptrap. "Does that answer your question?"

"You have NO idea." Claptrap stated. "So... a question to that... if I were to bring my own game. Could I possibly--"

"You cannot recreate fifty shades of gray. The Owner had that banned when Max attempted to 'role play' to unassuming guests." Winslow said bluntly. 

"A ban that I spit at, I say!" Max yelled and turned to look at the Owner's door and shook a fist. "You hear me? SPIT!"

"You whipped the player into unconsciousness." Sam said quietly, Max just pouted. 

Brock stubbed out his cigarette and turned his attention at the host, "What about Russian Roulette? Is that alright?"

The Russian Mercenary beamed and looked at Brock hearing the mention of the game. "Oh, that does sound like fun game to play." 

"Knowing you... it's probably a no. But I suppose I could check to see if that's banned or not..." Winslow scratched his cheek.

"So how would one go about getting to those other rooms?" Ash asked, sounding interested. "I mean, Texas Hold 'Em is great and all, but a nice change of pace of games doesn't hurt either. Less money grabbing too." 

"Just speak to me at least three days in advance, that way I can speak with the Owner and see if it's not reserved or occupied." The portly man explained. 

"Sweet." Tycho grinned. "I think I have a few games in mind."

The patrons spoke with one another, talking about the different games they could all play sometime later on as they all felt too tired to play that specific night. Winslow noticed Claptrap glancing over the bookshelf door.

"Who occupies the rooms anyways that it requires to have reservations?" Claptrap asked.

"Tommy Wiseau." Winslow answered as he stood up and left.

"Wait... HE'S HERE?!" Claptrap shouted but got not answers. "Winslow! WINSLOW YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE A CONVERSATION WITH AN ANSWER LIKE THAT! WINSLOW!" The little robot looked at the others frantically, "Do any of you know about this?!"

Sam and Max looked at each other and shrugged. "No idea, but I wouldn't be surprised." Sam answered. 

"He's up there with Keanu Reeves." Tycho chimed.

"Isn't he like a cryptid or whatever the kids call him?" Brock asked.

"Possibly. He's up there with Big Foot." Ash added.

"YOU ALL SUCK!" Claptrap cried out as the others laughed.

 


	10. It's A Misconception

It was a Friday night when Brock walked over to the bar and lightly knocked on the counter for his usual pack of cigarettes from Moxxi. He found it to be almost tradition to do so before a round of Texas Hold 'Em with the rowdy usual and while he would find it slightly dull, the people (creatures?) he was surrounded with made it worth coming back on routine. 

"For you, sugar." Moxxi winked.

"Thanks, babe." Brock nodded and took a stick out and a ten. "Keep the change."

"As usual~" 

The bodyguard gave a small chuckle and moved to the table where he imagined the game would take place for the night. He looked around, seeing Winslow entering the Owner's office, Tycho fiddling around with the loud arcade machine, and Claptrap's friend-- Steve, looking to be engaged with something on what he recalled Dean mentioned was a gameboy of sorts. Probably occupying his time until the loud robot came about. He couldn't blame him. 

Taking a seat, and lighting the cigarette finally, Brock puffed out the nicotine when he heard the sounds of footsteps. It was heavy, but not the usual drag that Sam had or the weight Heavy had. He turned his head and found Ash, still in his S-Mart uniform stomping bitterly to the table. He didn't need to say anything, the look on his face showed nothing but pure, unfiltered aggravation and while under normal circumstances he would just let the deadite hunter be, he actually enjoyed talking with him... mildly. But out of the crowed, Ash was the most "sane" in Brock's eyes.

"Rough day with the undead hoard?" Brock asked.

"Feh! I wish! At least THEM I can handle with a quick shot of my boom stick and a swipe with the chain saw." Ash answered bitterly. 

Brock raised a brow. "New love interest?"

Ash stared ahead at the wall and shook his head after a moment. 

"Then what?"

"...Work."

Sighing and placing the cigarette in the ash tray to pick up later, Brock leaned on the table. "What happened, Williams?" 

"Do you really want to hear?" Ash turned his head to Brock, a cold harsh glare in his eyes. "Do you really?

"We have time to kill."

"Ha. Funny, Brock-o."

"I know I am."

The deadite hunter then raised a brow and a smirk. Shaking his head once more and rubbing his face, Ash took a deep breath. "Where do I even start?"

"From the beginning." Brock picked up the lit cigarette and took a drag. 

"Okay." Ash nodded. "Spell fourth of July."

"What."

"Spell. Fourth of July."

"F-O-U-R-T-H." Brock answered deadpanned.

"Good, excellent, you know how to spell. Anyone with a basic grasp of the English language can spell that."

"What does that have to do with what happened?" The bodyguard asked, not sounding amused and borderline irritated.

Ash just turned to look at Brock with a horrible shit-eating grin. "Oh, I'm getting to that."

\--

"I'm sorry, what?" Ash questioned. 

Customer feedbacks are not unusual where he worked, in fact he was perfectly aware that customers always had something to say, whether they were compliments, complaints, or just general advice. Whether they were good or bad was up for debate, but still, he was always intrigued by those felt compelled to open their mouths to say anything. But this one... this one was special. The customer in front of him had a haughty air around her as she clutched to her purse with her chest puffed out like a peacock ready to flirt. 

"You heard me." The customer huffed.

Ash opened and closed his mouth, for once at a tongue tied situation as he had no witty retort, and was just dumbfounded. He glanced up at the giant banner he was hanging up at the front of the store. It was promoting a sale for all things related to the upcoming Independence holiday, ranging from a buy one get one free deal and half off deals. Frankly, the design looked like that Uncle Sam stared at a paper and threw up the American flag all over it but he wasn't in charge of how it looked and just where to place it. 

"I just... I don't know what you want me to do about that, ma'am." Ash answered truthfully. 

"I want you to tell your manager that it's spelled wrong!" The customer looked more frustrated.

"Okay, ma'am? Where is the typo?" 

"There!" She pointed. "Fourth! It's spelled wrong!" 

Ash blinked. "It... it is?" 

She huffed again and rolled her eyes, "It's a common misconception that you spell it like that, when really it's withOUT the 'U', it's spelled F-O-R-T-H."

No. No it's not. Ash wanted to remark but bit his tongue. "Is it, now?" He said instead through gritted teeth. 

"Yes. Now tell your manager, otherwise you and everyone at the store will look foolish!" The customer snarked, tossing back her hair and waltzed inside.

The deadite hunter just watched her vanish and stared at the eye-popping sign and raised a brow, blinking in confusion.

\--

Brock stared, not having taken a drag the entire time as he listened to Ash regale his day. 

"So, the whole day, I couldn't stop thinking about that." Ash admitted. "I asked my co-workers, I asked customers, I even asked my goddamn manager and they all told me it was spelled the same way! F-O-U-R-T-H!"

"You make this sound like a Gray-Grey situation." Brock mumbled. "You were right with how it was spelled, not her."

"I KNOW THAT, BROCK." Ash yelled before sighing and rubbing his face. "I just... it baffled me. I knew it was wrong, my gut instinct knew it was wrong... even common sense knew it was wrong! And yet... AND YET..." He covered his face and let out a muffled yell.

Heavy walked down the stairs where he saw the two men sitting at the table and walked over to join them, he raised a brow at the frustrated deadite hunter and looked to Brock, pointing at the brunette. "What is wrong with Williams?" 

Figuring this was an opportune moment, Brock stubbed out the cigarette and looked up at the Russian. "Heavy, I have a question for you." 

"Yes?" Heavy nodded. "What is it?"

"Spell Fourth."

The Russian blinked and crossed his arms. "F-O-U-R-T-H."

"And what was your first language?" Brock kept asking.

"Russian. Why are you asking such baby questions?"

"He had a rough customer." Brock answered in his usual calm tone. "Insisted it was spelled F-O-R-T-H and Williams here has been asking anyone and everyone to spell it for him. She ah... questioned his sanity." 

"Oof." Heavy winced. "I am sorry to hear that. Sounds like customer was a spy."

"She probably was..." Ash said through muffled hands. 

Tycho moved from the arcade over to the table, taking a seat and sighing. "What are we talking about here?"

"Spell fourth." Both Brock and Heavy asked, taking Tycho aback by the unison.

"F-O-U-R-T-H, why--"

The webcomic writer jumped as a loud muffled scream emitted from Ash.


	11. Telemarketing

It wasn't like he was intending to play a round of poker, but Guybrush did promise to swing by the Inventory and see the scene. What he was expecting was a table with a bunch of random characters, the sounds of chips tossed at the table and ice clinking in the glasses as they all tried to guess each other's next move.

What he was not expecting, however, was a bunch of grown adults sitting around the table, a cell phone in the center of it all and the rest covering their mouths as the webcomic writer... what was his name? Oh yeah, Tycho, was grinning.

"What's going on-- MMPH!" Guybrush asked, immediately met with a series of shush and a massive hand belonging to Brock over his mouth and a finger over his lips. He looked towards Sam who just mouthed 'listen'.

"I'm sorry," Tycho asked, "What?"

On the other end of the line, an exhausted and frustrated voice spoke. "I said, we're offering a--"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I SAID. WE. ARE. OFFERING--"

"Would you mind being placed on hold?" Tycho asked.

"NO! NO I DON'T--"

"Thank you, please hold as we transfer you to--"

Click.

The table erupted with laughter to Guybrush's confusion. Were they drunk? He wondered.

Sam and Max spotted the blond and gave a wave, "Hiya, Squinky!" Max greeted gleefully.

He gave a wave back to the lagomorph and then went ahead moving the bodyguard's hand from his mouth, Guybrush placed his hands on his hips and looked around at the table. "Okay, mind filling me in on what happened?"

"Easily." Ash moved over and draped an arm around the pirate's shoulders. "Brahe has been getting a bombardment of telemarketers over the last, how many months was it?"

"Three." Tycho answered, taking a swig of his gin and tonic.

"Three months. And he figured that instead of constantly blocking the number and constantly arguing, why not just screw with their heads a bit?" Ash gestured to Tycho. "We WERE in the middle of a game when his phone went off and we've been at this ever since."

"Wait, ever since?" Guybrush raised a brow. "That would imply you get a call ever hour or so."

"Well, it's not just him that's been getting the calls." Sam said as he walked over to blond. "Max and I have been getting spammed as well."

"Yeah, and we have our friend the roach to help entertain us!" Max beamed.

"Roach?" Guybrush mumbled.

"So we've been basically handing Tycho our phones anytime we got a spam number. It's... heh heh, it's pretty entertaining, not gonna lie." Brock smirked. 

"I liked the bit with the monkey sounds." Heavy recalled fondly. 

"Uh..."

"Basically, Sir, " Winslow spoke up patting the blond's back, "They've been harassing Stans all night."

"Oooooh, I get it." Guybrush nodded. He looked over at yellow robot and scratched his cheek. "Do you get any phone calls um... Clacktrack?"

Brock and Ash snorted at the name.

"Claptrap! And no. I don't, because I have the top of line spam-block system in my hard-drive to put all those pesky telemarketers in their place!" The Pandora robot pridefully boasted. 

"More like being a walking telemarketer." Brock remarked. 

"ANYWAYS." Claptrap spoke over, "No. I don't get and phone calls, and if I did, I would be answering them internally like I do most of my conversations."

"Ah." Guybrush nodded. "So what kind of things were you telling these telemarketers?"

"Hmm... let's see..." Tycho leaned back trying to recall his best ones. "I just straight up yelled at the phone once to the point that the person panicked and hung up. Then there was just now where I pretended to be customer service, that one is my favorite." He pointed at Ash. "He did a funny one not too long ago."

The pirate merely looked at the deadite hunter for a story.

"Well, it was like this..." Ash begun

\--

His phone buzzed in the middle of a game, he was low on cash but high on adrenaline. Frustrated, he pull out his phone to see who was bothering him.

"Goddammit, another one of those telemarketers." Ash cursed. "Bastards are more persistent then demons and last minute shoppers."

"Why not just screen it and turn it off?" Sam asked.

"That's what I'm about to do, Clifford."He said, moving his finger to shut it off when Tycho who was in the game quickly placed a hand over the one holding the phone, giving a puppy dog look to the brunette. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Ash glared angrily. 

"Before you pass the call, remember the story I told you literally ten minutes ago?" Tycho spoke urgently.

"Yeah?" Ash's eyes then widen. "Oh... okay." He let out a mischievous snicker and clicked to accept the call, staying quiet.

"Hello?" The voice spoke up.

"Yellow." Ash greeted with a southern drawl, placing a finger on his mouth indicating to the others to stay quiet, spotting Max quickly hopping on Sam, grinning.  

"Hello, sir. How are you?"

"I'm fine as a fiddle."

"Good." The faux perkiness of the voice emitted through, "I have a special offer for you today sir, if you book an appointment today with you local dentist, I can offer you free teeth whitening!"

"Free teeth whitenin' you say?" Ash smirked, "My, that's a fine deal you gots there."

"Yes, sir--"

"But what happens if I have only one tooth?"

Tycho, Max and Sam snorted and covered their mouths quickly to hide the snickering that was trying to escape.

"I... don't think I..." The line went quiet, the sounds of someone talking behind the telemarketer being heard before the phone clicked off and he let out a loud laugh alongside the others.

\--

Guybrush meanwhile was laughing at the imagery. "Oh man, that's amazing." 

"So now they've been at it for..." Winslow checked his pocket watch, "Roughly two hours now."

"That's some serious dedication..." Guybrush crossed his arms, amused.

"Anyways, what brings you by this part of town?" Brock asked, stubbing out his cigarette. "Been a while since we last saw you which was, what, a few months ago or so? Whatcha been up to?"

"I was in the neighborhood and Winslow wanted to catch up on things with me after the trip I had." He shrugged, "Figured I could kill two birds with one stone and see the hype of this place."

"And an excellent rock-tossing, bird-pelting toss at that." Sam adjusted his hat. "Granted, we seemed to have stopped playing but that's fine."

"This is way more entertaining!" Max hopped on the table. 

"Have you been getting unwanted calls?" Heavy asked, towering the blond with absolute ease but his voice radiated no harm.

"I mean," Guybrush rubbed the back of his neck and not wanting to come off as someone who was pretty much intimidated by the Russian Mercenary, "Yeah, once or twice maybe, but I usually just let it go to voicemail. If it's important, they'll call me back at a later time. If ah... if at all."

"Like me!" Claptrap gleefully raised his arms, even going so far as to give a small hop on his wheel. When he noticed no one agreeing, he crossed his robotic arm and muttered in a low voice "*Beeping* *Beep*holes..."

"I suggest giving a tease at them, if I remember right, isn't making smart-ass remarks sort of your speciality?" Sam recalled, almost fondly. 

"In a way. Not to brag or nothing but..." Guybrush gave a small chuckle and shook his head, " I haven't done that kind of thing in years, I might be a little rust-- YIPES!" He let out a yelp and jumped as his phone started to ring loudly. 

"You scream like a girl." Tycho snickered. 

"I do not." The pirate pouted, digging into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. He only stared for a moment before smirking and showing the "Spam Likely" number flashing. "I think I got a telemarketer."

"What are you waiting for, man? Answer it!" Claptrap begged. "I wanna hear this wit of yours!" 

The regulars gave a chorus of yes and goading him to do it, Guybrush looked at Winslow who just smiled and gave a shrug. "You heard the crowd, sir." 

With a sigh, Guybrush accepted the call and moved to place it in the center of the table, making sure it was on speaker. He stayed quiet.

"Hello?"

"Hola, como estas?" Guybrush greeted. 

"I didn't know you were fluent in Spanish." Claptrap faux-whispered but was quickly nudged by Brock to stay quiet.

"Ah... oh-lah!" The telemarketer greeted, already getting a few whispers from the others. "Um... yo habla english?"

"And this guy clearly doesn't know." Max snickered along side the robot.

"Ehh... un.... eh... little..." Guybrush smirked. "No es bueno en ingles."

"Terrbile." Ash snickered. 

"Ah... r-right. Okay. Um... you're eligible for um... for--" The poor telemarketer never got a chance to finish his sentence as Guybrush slammed his hands on the table and looked dramatically at the phone.

"Madre de Dios, El Pollo Diablo!! Ayuda!!" He yelled frantically, admittedly getting the Heavy to jump. But the telemarketer gave a yelp and hung up the phone before Guybrush could and the table fell silent... and then quickly loud with laughter.

"Holy crap, man!" Tycho laughed, "That was incredible! Hats off to you, my good Sir!"

The regulars applauded Guybrush who, while still laughing, took a bow in front of the others. "You can add that to your repertoire." He smiled, pointing at Tycho.

"You best believe I will." The webcomic artist pointed back at the blond. 

"Sam, we need to bring our roach friend, we gotta!" Max desperately shook the dog. "Please Sam, please please please!" 

"No need to tell me twice, little buddy!" Sam agreed eagerly. 

"What's this about a roach?" Guybrush asked, adjusting his jacket and taking back his phone before a grabby Max or Claptrap could take hold of it.

"Guybrush," Max leaned and batted his eyes to the blond, "Have you ever heard of the movie The Exorcist?" 


	12. Carpool Sing-A-Long

With his own car in the garage for maintenance, Ash's car broken down and Tycho asking already in advance for a ride, Brock Samson never imagined he would be sitting in the car with the police, let alone with the Freelance Police. Then again, they were known for doing what they do best: driving quickly and, admittedly, recklessly. But it would seem that bumper to bumper rush hour traffic jams was the only thing stopping the Freelance duo from doing as such.

"Uuuugh, Sam, I'm doing of old age here." Max groaned, his feet resting on the dashboard who just moments earlier was suggesting on breaking the rules 'just because they wanted to see how many pile ups they can cause' on a bet.

And yet, Brock thought, in a way, he was relieved that it was the six foot dog driving and not the shark-grinning lagomorph.

The bodyguard looked to his right where Tycho was sandwiched between himself and Ash, staring down at his phone. "Whatcha lookin' at there, Brahe?" Brock asked. 

"The GPS to see what the fuck is causing the accident."

"Language!" Max shouted from the passenger seat.

"You said more words that would make the vilest comedians blush twenty minutes ago, little buddy." Sam pointed out. 

"Yeah, because _**I**_ can say those words." Max huffed.

Tycho just rolled his eyes and continued scrolling through his phone before finding the source and frowning. "Well Gentlemen, I found the source of what happened to our situation."

"Do you have to speak all fancy all the time?" Ash grumbled.

"...Yes." The webcomic writer just glared.

"So what's the hold up then?" Ash stared back. "Zombies? Deadites? Old Lady Beatrice driving twenty miles per hour? What is it?"

Tycho merely showed his phone to Ask. "Ten car pile up taking up two lanes. Most likely caused by Old Lady Beatrice driving twenty miles per hour."

"AND WE DIDN'T CAUSE IT?!" The lago sounded appalled. 

"Guess not." The dog sighed. "Next time though."

The three in the back gulped at the idea. 

"Anyways, how about we turn on some tunes till we passed this jam?" Tycho suggested. 

"Careful now, wouldn't want it to be-- OW!" Ash felt the back of his head slapped hard by Brock who just growled at the deadite hunter. "Never mind then, just gonna shut my mouth up."

"A good decision." Brock glared. 

"Nah, I like the idea of music." Sam turned on the radio, fiddling a little with the knob.

"Sam, I swear to God, you put on any of that Blue Grass crap, I will personally fling myself out of the car again." Max threatened. 

"It was one time and by accident, Max." Sam muttered. He went through the various static stations, a couple of radio stations, souls screaming for help, some speaking in languages he couldn't understand... he didn't want to admit the guests in his car that he almost never uses the radio for various of reasons. 

"....viva la vida loc... baby I'm sorry, not sor... today's forecasts calls for heavy... someone please dear God sav... in other news, today Presi... havanna ooh na... I am dripping in fin... my soul is on fire ple... despac..." 

"Wow, there is literally nothing good." Tycho sounded surprised. "You'd expect at least ONE good song to listen to."

"Top forty, my ass." Brock grumbled. 

It was then when Sam landed on a radio station that all five of them went quite, looking intently at the radio as they all knew the song simply because of the first few notes of the synth piano, the words coming to mind.

"I hear the drums echoing tonight" Tycho started, "But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation..."

Sam lightly tapped the steering wheel and continued. "She's coming in 12:30 flight. The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation..."

"I stopped an old man along the way..." Brock continued, "Hoping to find some long forgotten words or ancient melodies..."

Ash soon joined in, "He turned to me as if to say..."

Soon, Max sung alongside Ash. "Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you!"

Sam slapped the steering wheels as a drum before all five of them sung loudly and on top of their lungs, proudly and happily.

"It's gonna take a lot to take me away from you! There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do! I bless the rains down in Africa!  
Gonna take some time to do the things we never haaaaaaaad!!"

"Oh oh!!" Max added, bopping his head alongside the song. 

They stopped for a moment as the song played an instrumental beat, looking at each other before breaking into a laugh.

"Holy fuck, did we have a moment just now?" Tycho realized.

"We sing like freakin' angels!" Ash laughed boisterously.

"Angels that are off key, but yeah." Brock agreed, chuckling alongside the deadite hunter. 

"Who's off key? I'm totally on key!" Sam protested. 

"Says the guy who broke someone's glasses just BY singing." Max jabbed, snickering. "Oh! Next verse!" He leaned forward and turned the volume up. 

The riders in the car began to sing the next verse, no longer thinking of the horrific traffic jam they found themselves in.


	13. All That Remains

Anyone who stepped foot into the Inventory could quickly tell that the air felt off. And not in that usual musty way like that time Max had left the AC off for a week, no. This was more along the lines of dread and gloom that felt suffocating. 

If Tycho was make a wager tonight, it was most definitely because of the latest news that came out. And more to that, if someone like himself who practically lived in the social media world heard of it, then there was no doubt that those who have actually been affiliated with that company have gotten word. He wanted to strut up to the usual poker table, try and be as arrogant and cocky as possible in hopes to maybe even slightly lift the mood, but hearing the deafening silence of the Inventory quickly and effectively knocked the winds out of his sails. Instead, a somber walk with his feet occasionally dragging against the carpet was all that could be heard.

He glanced at the bar table where Claptrap and Ash sat with Moxxi, no sounds of drinks being concocted or horrible dubstep. It was odd seeing even that being silent. 

Already at the table, Sam and Max sat, with the Freelance dog being the one sitting in place of Max (he was still banned from playing if he remembered correctly), uncharacteristically silent instead of the usual inane banter between the duo. Next to Sam, Strong Bad quietly poked and realigned his poker chips, not even grumbling under his breath, but his shoulders stiff instead of slouch. Next to him, Heavy sat there, looking not as miserable as the other three, but still solemn... almost sympathetic and finally, next to the Russian was Brock Samson, inhaling yet another nicotine stick. Tycho looked around, wondering where the remaining two usuals were.

"So um... where's the Player and Winnie?" Tycho asked, finally shattering the silence that was dominating the Inventory. 

"Player called in sick... said something about catching a flu or something." Brock answered, tapping lightly on his cigarette over the ash tray. "As for Winslow... he said he was going to a meeting with that uh... what's his name, Guy Rush- Guybrush about something. Guessing it was about the news since he's not here still."

"Oh." Tycho rubbed the back of his neck, taking the Player's seat for the night. "So word is out, huh?"

There was a sadden sigh heard among the group and Tycho didn't even know where to go from there when the sound of an elevator door opening was heard, they all looked upwards where the entry was and soon saw the portly host and the tall lanky blond with a look of dejection and misery all over his face.

"Nice of you to swing by, Guy." Ash greeted from over his shoulder.

"Yeah." Guybrush muttered, his hands clenching and unclenching before he cursed under his breath and took long strides to the bar and gestured to Moxxi for a drink.

"What happened?" Claptrap eventually asked, his usual boisterous voice sounding oddly sadden. It creeped Tycho out. 

"I..." Winslow sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "Where to start?"

"How about this." Guybrush spoke up. "News is true. They're shutting all of it down. Just like that. Not even a preemptive warning of any kind. Just..." He snapped his fingers before dropping his hand back to his side and took a sip from his drink. 

"What?!" Heavy widened his eyes in shock. 

"Ouch." Brock frowned.

"Whoa..." Ash looked back down.

"Dammit." Sam grumbled, clenching a fist while Max lowered his ears, looking away. 

Tycho jumped when Strong Bad slammed his gloved fists into the table, rattling the chips off their neat stacks. 

"Huh, I always pegged you as the type that would be rejoicing in the news." Tycho said to Strong Bad who just stared bitterly at the webcomic writer.

"Listen, chumprumpski, just because I have some personal beef with those losers doesn't mean that I wanted THIS to happen." Strong Bad explained, catching almost everyone off guard. "Don't get me wrong, I hated their business approach for not using ME as their cow to milk off."

"Ew." Tycho frowned.

"But that's still crappy news for everyone else. Besides, NOW who am I going to ridicule relentlessly for not releasing MY favorite game? Which is MY OWN GAME?!"

 He thought for a moment and gave a small chuckle. "Point made." 

Brock and Heavy glanced at the Freelance Police, remaining silent throughout the whole thing sans Sam's mumbling outburst. "You two alright?" Brock eventually asked. 

"I eh... no. Not really." Sam admitted, not noticing Max leaving his booth to hop near him. "I mean, technically Max and I weren't really next in line for a new season or anything like that so it's not like we were going to be screwed over like that Bigby guy, but still... we were there when it first got started. It's... hmm... what would you say it is Max?"

"A massive kick in the crotch." Max answered dejectedly. "With a spiked iron boot on fire and a voice going 'hi there, I would like to use this boot on your crotch. Repeatedly' and then doing as such."

Guybrush raised his cup in agreement and took a swig. 

"No... but that is a mood." Sam scratched his temple before snapping his finger. "Surreal." He sighed, crossing his arms and having it rest on the table. "It doesn't feel like it's happening... I guess that's how you feel, huh Guybrush?"

Guybrush remained silent and placed the cup down. "Yeah. But if I'm going to be totally honest? It pisses me off, like, they kept toying at things and pulling and pushing me around and..." He clenched his hands tightly around the cup before his shoulders sagged. "Sorry. Didn't mean to blow up like that. Just... give me a few days. It's still raw."

"Fair." Heavy nodded in understanding. "I know that feeling all too well back at Red Base."

"I bet." Guybrush sighed.

"So what's gonna happen to the Inventory?" Claptrap asked, looking at Winslow. "Are they coming for here next?"

Winslow took a breath and placed his hands together, rubbing it slightly. "No. They're not." Winslow finally answered, "The Inventory remains off-limits to them as it no longer belongs to them but rather to the Owner of the Inventory by law."

"Was he there?" Tycho asked.

The host nodded. "He wanted to see what was going on himself, make sure he wasn't being eh... what was the word that was used? Ah yes, tossed under the bus. So while the Owner is making sure all is clear, it's safe to say that the Inventory will remain open for all those who wish to play some poker as well as seek for sanctuary in these trying times."

"So that's why you're here then." Ash realized, looking at Guybrush. "For some sanctuary."

"In a manner of speaking." The blond answered. 

"Damn, blondie." Ash placed a sympathetic hand on Guybrush. "Sorry about that."

"Eh, it happens." Guybrush gave a sadden smirk. "Kind of a motif in my life."

"So, just to be sure, the Inventory is going to stay open? It's not going away?" Claptrap asked for clarification. 

"Yes." Winslow answered.

"It's going away?!" The small robot gasped.

"No." The host frowned.

"Is it doing the hokey pokey?!" Max jumped, sounding a little bit better then he did a moment ago.

"What? No! I... ugh." Winslow rubbed the bridge of his nose as Guybrush chuckled. 

"Let me answer." Brock stubbed his cigarette. "The Inventory is open. Company that is shutting down isn't taking this place down with it. That about the gist of it?"

"Yes. That. Thank you, Mr. Samson." Winslow sighed. 

A chorus of "Ooh" was heard from the crowd. 

"Well, if that's the case." Ash slammed his drink down, wiping away the remaining booze from his chin and turned to the others. "How about a game of poker?"

"Yeah! What better way to express out frustration and grief then to mindlessly toss our well, hard-earned cash at an illegal game in an illegal establishment?" Claptrap beamed. 

"You read my mind." Brock chuckled.

"Now that sounds like an excellent idea." Sam smiled.

"I'm in!" Max jumped.

"You're still banned." Winslow reminded the lagomorph.

"Oh. Right. Then I'm the scandals cheerleader you'll find dead in the bathroom in two hours!"

"You crack me up, little buddy."

"Wait, what?" Guybrush looked horrified.

"Yes! Let's play the poker!" Heavy danced a little in his chair.

"Finally! Thought we would never play." Tycho sighed in relief.

"Gonna make all you losers eat it!" Strong boasted.

"Right then," Winslow moved to the group, giving a quick glance at Guybrush who looked to have been talking to Moxxi to make the drinks for the crowd... most likely on his own tab looking more like himself again and beamed.

"Gentlemen... and Claptrap. Let the games begin!" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Telltale, eh?
> 
> I was planning on a more goofball chapter (in fact... I'll post this up another time) but this one, well, it hit me like a bolt of lightening to write instead.
> 
> The news about Telltale is rough. And speaking for only myself, it was like a gut punch because I've been with this company since ye ol' Sam and Max season one. It's been with me through high school, college and beyond. I even applied to them several times in hopes to work with them (and, y'know, MAYBE try and convince for a season 2 of Monkey Island).
> 
> But seeing as it's not gonna happen and seeing as it's still a very hard pill to swallow... this chapter needed to be written.
> 
> Anyways, thank you Telltale Games.


	14. Social Pains

About two hundred and fifty dollars worth of chips were tossed haphazardly at the center of the table, the smell of cigarette and booze lingering around the four of them as, yet again, the Player was kicked out for loosing all of their funds. Max sat by the Buster Blaster playing away as Winslow kept a close eye at the poker players to make sure no one was cheating while Sam tap the table lightly to check. 

"Nnnngh... fold." Claptrap shoved his cards away bitterly. 

Ash raised a brow while Heavy chuckled and tossed more chips in. The Freelance Police sighed and tossed the chips to match.

"You're more bitter than usual, Claptrap." Sam noted. "Everything alright?"

The Pandorian robot sighed. "Ugh, no. I've just been having this really cruddy time with all these haters."

"Hey! Don't hate on me for kicking your robotic tin-can ass!" Ash glared bitterly.

"Not you, Williams." Claptrap quickly retorted. "Haters on the INTERNET."

"Oh... I knew that." The deadite hunter mumbled and went back to his cards. 

"So who are these haters?" Heavy asked. "Are they spies?"

"Might as well be, all they do is talk all sweet-like to you and bam!" He slammed his metal claws to the table. "They just proceed to backstab you when you least expect it!"

"Those are the worst spies!" The Russian agreed.

"Right?!"

Sam stared at his cards and folded, Winslow placed the remaining cards on the table. "Ash has... two pairs. The Heavy has, a full house! The Heavy wins this round." The host declared. The Russian beamed and took the winning pot as Winslow shuffled the deck and tossed out a new set to the remaining contenders. 

"So like I was saying," Claptrap stared at his cards and tossed a claw-full of chips. "Right?! They're totally spies."

"How so?" Sam asked, tossing some chips at the table as well. 

"At first, they act like my beloved fans, showering me with nothing but compliments and admiration. Sometimes even asking me for advice for their day to day life... but recently I've been getting the cold shoulder and like an insult compliment." Claptrap began to explain.

"Ooooh... a PAC." Ash nodded knowingly, checking his cards.

"A what?" Sam asked, tossing some chips in.

"A Passive Aggressive Compliment." The deadite hunter explained. "A bunch of co-workers and I came up with that term one day during a massive sales event and there were always these types of customers that it always felt like they broke their wrists in the process of complimenting our services. We called is a PAC because it sounded less obvious then us saying that they basically insulted us."

"That's pretty clever." Heavy complimented. "Like RED team name."

"What's it stand for?" Claptrap asked, tapping the table to check.

"Reliable Excavation Demolition" The Russian threw some of his chips in. 

"Huh." The robot nodded. 

"So Claptrap, why stay online if these hater spies bother you so much?" Sam asked. 

"Because that's where I can see how my business is booming." Claptrap explained. 

"Then why are these particular haters bothering you so much?" He kept asking.

"Uuuuugh... it's not always bothering me, Sam." Claptrap leaned his body back as if to mimic a head roll. "Just... this one particular hater."

"What he do?" Heavy then asked. 

"Well, this jerkspam--"

A grumble was heard from the bar where Brock was.

"...This JERK" Claptrap corrected, "Was at first one of my biggest fans but then I found out recently that they blocked me. ME! So I obviously looked into it to see why when I found out that apparently they were trash talking behind my back, saying things like I'm narcissistic and self observed."

"It's not entirely wrong though..." Sam folded and kicked his feet up.

"Well, WE all know that. And besides, when you all have issues with me, you have the decency to say it to my face." Claptrap bitterly tossed some chips in. "This guy didn't! Compliments one day, the next just a single post how I'm the devil and that anyone who follows me will be blocked."

"Ouch." Ash remarked, checking. 

"Seriously! Like, dude, it's okay to unfollow me, no foul. I'll always get more followers. But jeez! Take a step back from all that crap or at least don't compliment only to shit-talk behind my back a year later." Claptrap heard Heavy checking. 

"Maybe you take your own advice." Heavy advised. "Perhaps you do the blocking and moving on? You sound hurt."

"OF COURSE I'M HURT!" Claptrap yelled, silencing everyone in the room that only a cough was heard and Heavy scratched his forehead. 

"...You know what? Point made. You got me there, Heavy Man"

"It's just Heavy." The Russian corrected.

"Well anyways, taking your advice startiiiiiiiiiiiiiing now." Claptrap sounded pleased.

"Um... how?" Ash raised a brow.

"I just blocked him after making a nasty post." The robot beamed, shoving all of his chips into the pile. "You're right, I DO feel better! Maybe my luck will finally change for the better!"

The Heavy looked like he wanted to correct the little robot but decided to refrain since it seemed that it wouldn't have made a difference. Winslow tossed the remaining cards in and began. "Ash has a flush. The Heavy has a straight. Claptrap has... two pair. Ash wins the round." Winslow declared.

"SON OF A--" A series of bleeps were emitted loudly throughout the inventory as everyone ducked and Claptrap tossed his cards into the air out of sheer frustration.


	15. An Assault on the Senses

The snow outside fell quietly down the streets, almost no sounds being heard save for the occasional laughter or honks. The stores around the block were all closed for the night save for the few shops that had last minute shoppers or people who just wanted to buy the basic necessities such as milk or eggs. 

But in the Inventory, it was business as usual.

Well, as usual as it could get. 

Moxxi sat at the bar cleaning the whisky glass, listening admittedly reluctantly to Strong Bad and Claptrap get into a heated argument about whether or not Tim Allen could fly on a make shift sleigh made entirely out of duct tape in one night... and argument that stemmed from Max who just as quickly left the debate as soon as he started it. 

Sam was fiddling about on his banjo at an empty table, humming to himself a song that was undoubtedly stuck in his head... again, probably because of Max. The lago in question was busy chewing at the table mindlessly to the annoyance of Winslow who was side eyeing the lago from the bar. Brock sat with Heavy across the Inventory, finding themselves unable to handle the noises of the banjo, the bickering, and Max's endless chewing.

The elevator doors opened and Ash walked down the stairs, his arms stretched high over his head as he saw the sight below and very quickly opted to sit next to Brock and Heavy. 

"Long day at work?" Heavy asked. 

"Too freakin' long, my Russian friend." Ash nodded, leaning back and kicking a foot up on the table, letting out a sigh. "Too freakin' long."

"I thought you were suppose to have time off now that it was the holidays." Sam asked. 

"You'd think but no, everyone called in sick suddenly so I had to cover every one of their sorry asses." The deadite hunter grumbled, although soon giving a sly smirk. "But it's fine. Cause I have now the rest of December off."

"Ah, that's good!" The mercenary smiled.

"Damn right! Two weeks of paid vacation."

"Sure it's not a two weeks notice?" Brock let out a puff of smoke. 

The room fell silent as Ash muttered a series of curses under his breath before slamming his head on the table. "Anyways... are we playing poker or not?" Ash asked in a muffled voice, not lifting his head up from the table.

"Hate to break it to you but we wrapped up a half hour ago." Claptrap explained. "And Sam was the champion this time."

"Lady Luck favors a stud in a suit." The Freelance officer beamed. 

"God-freakin'-dammit." Ash growled. 

"Hashtag mood!" The robot agreed. 

Soon the sound of the faux library door opened with Tycho emerging and leaning on the railing with a smile on his face. "I have it all set up!"

"Have what set up?" Strong Bad asked, "The Nerd-a-thon?"

"Eat shit." Tycho pointed a finger at him before turning back to look at the others. "The Console room, I have it all set up!" Tycho's smile turned into a sly one as he leaned on the railing with one arm. "So you wanna come up and have a look?"

"Oh my..." Winslow looked up with a slightly lewd smile on his face. 

Ash looked up from the table to the host and gave a disgusted look. "Ew."

"But I take it you have it set up properly, Mr. Brahe?" Winslow asked.

"As promised."

"Very well, I'll inform the Owner." The host nodded and made his way to the Owner's office, leaving the others to be on their own. 

Not seeing anything better to do, the group sans Moxxi all gathered and ventured upstairs where Tycho opened the door proudly. Admittedly, there wasn't much to it in comparison to the main floor, but with a nice L-shaped couch, padded walls for noise cancellation and big screen TV making the whole room glow, it wasn't that bad of a hang out. "Gentlemen, the Console Room... freshly refurbished."

"Whoa whoa whoa wait, you actually managed to get a room?!" Claptrap gasped. "Was Tommy--"

"No. No he wasn't. For the last time it was a joke. But yes, I did manage to book a room and it's all up to date and ready to go."

"Sweet!" Sam smiled. "What kind of game do you have there?"

"Any of you fuckers up for Smash?" Tycho then said with a devilish grin. 

"Smash... why does that sound familiar...?" Brock muttered.

"Smash... Smash... OH! The beat 'em up!" Claptrap gasped. "I heard of it! Isn't it suppose to be like, an assault on your senses?"

"Sam's coat is an assault on the senses." Max sneered, hopping on the couch. 

"Can't argue with that." Sam agreed reluctantly, taking a seat alongside the hopping lago. 

As the others took a seat, Tycho handed out to everyone their controllers.

"The hell is this?" Brock looked at the tiny contraption. 

"This is smaller than my finger." Heavy frowned. 

"It's a temporary solution... I can get better controllers later." Tycho waved off, taking a seat with the others and taking the reigns, setting up the match. "Alright Gentlemen, pick your fighter."

A collected voice of confusion was mumbled from the group as they all looked down on their controllers. Tycho sighed and lifted his controller. "Okay, this button? That's the confirmation button. This one is to jump. This one is to move, got it?"

"No?" Ash answered. "But I guess I can learn on the spot." 

They all moved their cursor around to pick their fighter. Some decisions making more sense then the other. As the announcer declared with each decision, Sam couldn't help but notice who picked what. 

"Max?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Did you pick the blue spike thing?"

"Yes I did." Max nodded. 

"Why?" 

"Uh, why else, Sam? I gotta go fast!" The lago rolled his eyes. "So obvious."

"Why'd you pick the giant gorilla?" Claptrap asked, looked at Sam.

"Because he has good taste in neck ties." Sam answered as if it was obvious. "What about you... did... did you pick the robot?"

"Robot representations matter, Sam!" Claptrap sounded offended. 

"Well I picked this guy here because he has boxing gloves like me which makes him automatically cooler then all of you chumps." Strong Bad bragged to Tycho rolling his eyes. 

"Oh, that's a clever pick." Heavy approved. 

"Who'd you pick?" The non-wrestler asked Heavy.

"Oh... I picked the king alligator. He looks strong." The Russian smiled. "What about you, Brock? Who you pick?"

"Uuuuuh... the blond guy that looks like He-Man." Brock shrugged. 

"He kinda looks like you, Brocko." Ash chuckled.

Brock squinted and tilted his head before give a dry scoff. "Yeah, I guess."

"Who'd you choose there, Tyke?" Ash then looked over the webcomic writer. "Sam...as?"

"Heh, Sam should've picked that one." Claptrap snickered.

"But I like the monkey's neck tie..." Sam frowned.

"Well, naturally I picked her because she has the best stats and offense that can easily land--" He stopped short when all eyes were at him and they all read a unanimous look of disinterest and confusion, resulting in Tycho to just sigh. "I picked her because she makes big laser bombs."

"Ahh..."

"Why'd you pick who you picked, Williams?" Brock asked as he took a drag from his cigarette. 

"Who, the pink ball? I dunno... kinda looks cute." Ash shrugged.

"Huh... would've pegged you to pick one of the more buff looking fellas." Sam scratched his temple. 

"Anyways..." Tycho cracked his neck. "Let's get started on this."

With the press of a button, the announcer began to count down, revealing all eight fighters as they landed on the battlefield. And before the others could grasp what was happening, the big and loud 'GO' sign blared and the room became nothing but a cacophony of loud screaming and characters falling of the stage. Even Tycho who should have, in theory, been the top fighter to go against, found himself lost in the chaos that the others were in while thankful he had added sound cancellation padding to the wall.

"Wait, stop what's going on? Why do I have a flower suddenly?"

"I'M GOING TOO FAST! AND I LOVE IT!"

"How am I off the stage already?!"

"HOW DID I GET HERE?!"

"Stop shooting at-- I said sto-- STOP SHOOTING ME GODDAMMIT."

"Who the hell is pounding the ground?!"

"That's what she said!"

"BURN IN A DITCH?" 

It was most definitely an assault on the senses. 

 


End file.
